Mercurial
by Novoux
Summary: So maybe it's not just a cold. Not when his teeth chatter and the sweat soaking through blankets is cold and sticky. Maybe that he can't catch his breath or can't feel his legs, much less the swelling in his chest and something starts to make a warning whisper in his ears that something is very much wrong. In other words, Izaya makes a crucial business mistake. Shizaya.


They're in a dark place.

Six new text messages on his phone in lit-up messages that are supposed to trill but no sound comes. Muted, dull, quiet and toneless like the five missed calls from the same person, eyes wide awake no sound no meaning to glancing at one phone out of fifty different chances taken and this—is only one. One call, no one single click to answer the phone and breathe in, breathe out where are they heading because outside is dark and inside is still draped in shadows. It's not even morning but it's early morning and cold with a bite and warm stinky scents of blood and bad decisions. Rolling over on his couch—doesn't feel like anything but cold, cold, cold and there isn't a blanket to cover the rise and fall of gooseflesh on his arms and covering him entirely. The sheen of cold sweat starting to break out makes a layer of a ghostly blanket, never enough to feel warm.

Izaya shivers, teeth clinking in little toneless chimes of warning. It's not even remotely cold outside with the temperatures soaring in early morning weather and waiting for something to happen, besides feeling the need to soak up the heat the blankets don't give and sweating with the feeling of a telltale seasonal cold. Maybe something a little more aggressive this time of year after being treated to a meal by a client, a partner of Shiki's, and having to blow off yet another dinner date with the beast of Ikebukuro. Who isn't here, like he said he would be and that's not as okay as stealing the blankets he has and shivering underneath them, too sick to bother scheduling another date for now and or trying to make sense of why Shizuo gets so jealous. He knows—already having done this before, what happens when plans come up and even though Shizuo understands (or says he does) and then Izaya knows the look of something being wrong but not knowing how to translate it.

Being himself, he's never been good at discerning emotions and trying to understand them entirely—he's used to the same routine of playing around, toying with others and in a relationship these things can't go so lightly or gently into any night and waking back up in the day. There is no restart button and there is no second chance for mistakes but continuing to move on. One of the committing parts of a relationship, going strong this far and sailing on sheer luck they haven't killed each other but moving on to the less unfamiliar stage of casual dating to more romantic pursuits which are as fascinating as they are terrifying. Izaya's not sure which way to move and why he's supposed to do certain things or why Shizuo can be angry at him but won't beat him to a bloody pulp. He's not stupid at all (Shizuo hasn't called him that, not ever in seriousness when Izaya finds himself uncomfortable in not knowing what to do) and maybe he's not good at getting these things right in the first stages. It's okay, it's supposed to be fine because Shizuo doesn't know much about what being in a relationship has to have for requirements so they play by ear and hands with intertwining fingers and try to make the most of it.

Shizuo is not here, not in Izaya's apartment and the text messages that light up Izaya's phone deter him from making another move. Cracking his eyes open, feeling dizzy and with his vision fuzzy he looks again and again at the messages waiting to be opened and the emptying feeling starts with holes in his throat as he puts his phone back down, draws the blankets tighter (empty things because they only remind him that—) and tries to get comfortable. Today is exhausting for not being early and Shizuo is probably doing something along the lines of worrying and brows furrowing in concern the way he tries to hold Izaya like they can stay for as long as they want without the rest of the world watching, waiting, wondering. It's an amusing thought to entertain when he wants to sleep but now he doesn't feel so well and there's a reason why, there must be if he can't find the will to glance at his phone anymore and not hear the sound of any new text messages. The feeling is reminiscent to being submerged and held down, thick with bubbling and pops of no discretion and no warning before the after effects begin.

If he calls back, then it's admitting that the silent drifting is occurring and if not then they're both lost at sea, lost in nausea Izaya swallows back down sliding over his throat and uneasy when it burns and stings in his eyes. That's not the only thing that can—but it's not important, feeling ill enough to warrant a day off with the case of shivers and his mind too cloudy to think right. Almost the feeling of being drunk, drunk enough to forget that problems exist when he can't speak clearly and talk a little louder in the deafening silence of waiting for either of them to say something important. It's clear that there are problem and they etch into his fingers from days of filing away at work because Shizuo isn't supposed to keep his thoughts hostage and ruin him over and over again.

It's pointless—now, thinking about it and fuzzy tongue soaked in acetone and cotton that starts to burn hotter with the swell of nausea, thinking this may be more than a cold and he's probably kidding himself anyway with trying—to understand. Relationships are icy unstable footing and preferring to stay to one side and not reach to meet halfway sounds easier than it is because it's not easy to turn down invitations from touches and other things because he's (nervous afraid anxious scared to lose—) unsure of losing everything he has. What if this, what if he forgets what makes him the way he is? And Shizuo doesn't know, doesn't understand the consequences of being a malevolent, watchful god. If he intercepts then he loses power and if he doesn't have power then he is _nothing _and that itself is a concept with the description of terrifying except Izaya will never admit to fear.

His phone sits in between his fingers, wondering if and when to make a call who to and—why does he keep expecting more than he can be allowed—then waving the idea away only to come back and strike him hard, head rolling back and body recoiling from the damage starting to take its toll. Whatever he's sick with it's sudden and too quick to be a cold and Izaya's mind starts to wander, getting too thick and heavy with each passing second and feeling ready to melt and stop existing for a little while. His eyes hurt and burn, just like the blood starting to fry in his veins and make the popping that comes with the clicking of breathing in, echoing in his lungs and his heart missing a beat or two in the cadence of giving up.

So maybe it's not just a cold. Not when his teeth chatter and the sweat soaking through blankets is cold and sticky. Maybe that he can't catch his breath or can't feel his legs, much less the swelling in his chest and something starts to make a warning whisper in his ears that something is very much wrong.

It won't do any good to think about it any more—just as his skin starts to turn feverish, too quick for this to be a common cold. His head feels hotter than normal, eyes blurring once again and blinking slowly only makes the dizziness worse. The room is spinning, on its last legs pretending that these conversations are the last and therefore there isn't much to worry about when Shizuo is gone and Izaya can try to think for himself, feeling too many things to say and when not trusting his own judgment it snaps and breaks off like trail of lying up to now. Shizuo acts so concerned, Izaya never knowing to trust more than he can provide and it's nothing at all stopping him from leaving but the warmth and the things he doesn't know (keep him there, tied up to his own stupid mistakes) start to add up.

Shizuo does not have the ability to be predictable. Constantly making Izaya guess to add up and over the mistakes of getting distracted when the beast doesn't make his expectations. Most of the time when Izaya insults he expects the immediate reaction of anger and his throat collapsing under a strong grip of bruising fingers with a snarl that stretches across the bared teeth of a monster. And when Shizuo hasn't picked him up to crush him down or pin him and laugh, scoff because it's all so funny to him when Izaya fails their games, relationships are hard to understand and even worse to compute in being completely comfortable. Anything Izaya can do to test the boundaries he does and even now he sees not answering calls and texts a stupidly redundant part but as per the dryness in his throat and the feeling of black spots invading, he decides that it's best not to get Shizuo involved.

After all, his beast is unpredictable. Wild and mad, confusing with emotions and reactions and when Izaya wants to know if trust exists and what it means to go beyond fighting only and then learning that in order to be in a relationship there are certain ideas to be passed around. Like common knowledge, except nothing ever is to Izaya when how would he know about these sorts of conceptions on how things work? He doesn't—remembering only a childhood spent of a lonely youth and talking to himself for the fun of not wanting to feel as lonely as he was. Social skills come at a poor rate and so teasing and manipulating makes things easier to deal with and less personal. Shizuo and his invites to talk and hold him make him dizzy and lightheaded.

The feeling of illness now isn't the same thing. Right now is the sparse, evaporating saliva dripping with heavy coatings of something being far too off, body temperature skyrocketing just from the heat of breathing fire without flames inside his mouth. His entire body feels heavy with molten lead, too tired to move and shivering within blankets that don't do anything to keep him warm. That's not what common colds do and nor do several nights of sleep. Maybe—if he thinks further back to the business deal with the associate of Shiki, under the name that sounded suspicious because he doesn't know of any Yodogiri Jinnai and his job is to know these things. Maybe why the feeling of something being off, call it the rising hair on the back of his neck or the twitch in his eyelid after the first bite of not wanting to be impolite but not really caring for food.

The _food—_Izaya remembers with a hazy mind, thoughts running into one another and bleaching with the time passing knowing that from the dinner with Yodogiri he didn't eat much, preferring to talk with someone who talked in more circles than actually said a word of any importance. The call had been received only a week before, claiming to be an associate of Shiki's and as soon as Izaya's brain can connect the blurry dots running in streams of ink and blood coating thickly over his tongue, his brain short-ciruits. He knows exactly maybe possibly now that his head is a mess and his body shudders violently, gooseflesh rising and still bitterly cold despite the sensation of dehydration wracking his body and forcing him to see black.

Izaya coughs, raising a heavy hand with his phone, having to tear away his gaze and feel his head drop off the edge of the pillow when he can't _move _at all; much to his silent anxiety that stops short because now is the time he doesn't want to freak out. That's not like him, not like a god at all to stoop so low as to demean himself (no room to talk when he's been _poisoned_) and there isn't much time to waste when a mole in the network can cost him, angry over the stupid mistake of not checking enough information on the businessman who gave smiles as fake as the sincerity in his words. One number he has to dial, one number to let Shiki know that he—he can't—he can't _think_ at all.

His fingers scramble for purchase, pressing hard on several buttons and blinding white screen startle him, feeling too dizzy and too ill to focus on anything but not throwing up right now, dealing with nausea boiling over and his brain melting with a trickle down his spine into solidifying chunks of useless material. That's all he'll be soon, if he doesn't get the phone number—why won't his fingers work—trying to drag in breaths from his mouth, nose clogged and blood splashing over his hands with the strong scent of burning copper in his nose, trickling as he tries to focus on a bloodied screen and his fingers won't _move _and he can't do it he can't think and he can't breathe so how is he going to—choking and gagging on another cough, head hanging when he can't hold himself up and leaning dangerously off the couch, blood just starting to pool on the floor as it leaks from both of his nostrils.

Come _on—_just scrolling, pick the right number and then he can just—a harsh wet cough stops him, spitting blood and mucus and bile over his hand and onto the floor, shivers so violent they wrack him and won't let him have the room to breathe in the confined space of dying from his own pride and arrogance. Just one call, that's all he needs—picking a number, it's got to be Shiki's and dialing it means he can breathe a shudder of some relief, knowing in his mind that with the adrenaline rushing the poison is moving faster and he's not going to make it if Shiki doesn't pick up yet. He needs a doctor, possibly Shinra, but he needs to _call_.

At the sound of the call connecting, Izaya coughs roughly, wet blood trailing onto the floor and the room spins once, twice, before submerging in thick black waters of dark spots morphing all over his vision. When the click alerts of someone picking up, it's almost too good to be—sudden darkness, sudden silence and dead to the world.

The phone slips from his fingertips.

_So close._

* * *

The uneasy feeling starts when Shizuo's phone rings early in the morning at an hour anyone with a brain wouldn't be calling at if they valued their life. Obviously not, narrowing down the list of people stupid enough to call and then feeling the narrow hope of maybe it being someone he's been waiting to hear from, heavy lit embers still weighing in his chest listening for any chance of talking to Izaya again. He knows they've had doubts because Izaya is afraid of committing to anything that means not being able to hide behind masks and images. It's frustrating, it's annoying and exhausting, but he hates how Izaya hasn't responded at all and feels tempted to go and break down the door and demand why Izaya is acting like Shizuo has done something wrong.

Any and all urges come to an abrupt halt, when his fingers grasp for his phone on his nightstand and fumble around, brushing over a pack of cigarettes, the cold metal of his sunglasses, and then finally onto the plastic that slips in his fingers before he can flip it open without checking the number. It's three forty-five in the goddamn morning and so this better be good or someone will have to pay for waking him up with no good reason. "Who the fuck calls this early in the morning?" A growl slips out when it's as polite as he can manage, hoping it's not Kasuka or Tom-san on the other line and yanking rough knots out of his hair when he scrapes his nails against his scalp, trying not to break something within reach.

Silence answers him, the sound of clattering onto the floor hitting his ears and he thinks it's just a prank call and the bastard got scared—ready to give whoever it is half of his bad attitude and then pulling the phone away, checking the screen and stopping himself moments from saying anything accusatory as soon as the name comes up on the screen and it takes several more seconds running slower than normal time as his brain takes minutes to process what the hell is going on. "Oi, oi, Izaya," Shizuo starts, carefully, thinking of quieting his voice so he can try to think clearly over the sound of something crashing in the background. "What the hell are you doing? What's going on that's so important you had to call me this late?" Stupid damn flea, making his head surge with thoughts this late and too tired to sort them through, growling to himself in frustration.

There's still no answer, the sound of nothing in the speaker and even though Shizuo has already asked what's going on, Izaya always talks first. That is how conversations have always started and always end until Shizuo can get in a final word that catches him off guard—this is not the situation for that. For some reason the same feeling of something not right when he stops, listening for Izaya to respond and hearing the quiet rasp of heavy breathing somewhere nearby, making the adrenaline start to fire along with the first rush of anger. "Flea, what the hell is going on? If you don't answer, I'm coming over." Nothing comes and Shizuo feels the surge of white hot numbness sinking its claws into his chest as he thinks of pulling on his clothes, phone held up to his ear and thoughts running through his head. "Stay where you are, flea. I'll be right there." And out of habit or concern he leaves his phone on, barely having time to slam his front door shut while tugging on his shoes.

Breaking out into a run is easy enough, trying to keep making sure Izaya is there and all he hears is rasping pants that get softer and quieter as Shizuo's breaths grow heavier to keep up with running as fast as he can, never stopping for anyone and he doesn't have time to consider what he's doing as he keeps running, thinking only of Izaya and why Izaya isn't answering when he keeps talking into the phone at random intervals. His voice grows louder each time and starts to take on an edge of trepidation, having his boyfriend eerily silent and with pants that don't sound to be normal like sleeping to keep Shizuo from stopping in his run. He knows it sounds stupid—there's no point in caring for what does and doesn't sound like whatever. All he knows is to keep running and keep pushing himself harder and faster, because he doesn't know what's on the other side of the phone.

Preliminary ideas are the ones that repeat themselves—what's going on why is this happening what happened—and make Shizuo's teeth grind as his legs start to burn from exertion, running as fast as possible with a phone up to his ear as if this is completely normal and it's supposed to be, anyway, seeing as he's not planning on stopping anytime soon. There are better ways of exacting revenge than playing a prank on him so he's not worried about that possibility—rather, of what he may find if Izaya isn't okay. And ten minutes into his run he can feel his legs burning and feel the heavy inhales his lungs heave for when he keeps pushing, coming up on the apartment complex and his phone against his ear again, waiting for any sort of recognition and to know that Izaya is listening, one way or another.

Nothing comes—that's fine, just keep moving don't think about it ask questions later, making his way bursting through the apartment complex's lobby doors and taking the stairs all the way up, ignoring the confused glance from the receptionist who hasn't realized that Shizuo is often a visitor without invitation. Right now none of them matter—none of them know what's about to transpire and the fact Shizuo feels the same itchy feeling of knowing there's a hunch but not wanting to voice it.

Surprisingly, the front door is unlocked. Highly unusual, knowing Izaya and his meticulous examples of wanting to keep his private life private and not deal with unexpected visitors—unless if they're Shizuo and he really can't stop his lover anyway, there's no point in wanting to or trying. Shizuo braces himself for anything from a gag (highly unbelievable, not in the slightest with how much his heart is pounding) to Izaya being hurt or sick or _dying_.

The coincidence is unsettling as soon as Shizuo opens and shuts the door behind himself, eyes closing in on Izaya and his phone is quickly abandoned into his pocket when he rushes over, seeing a puddle of blood mixing with other fluids. On his knees, Izaya moved onto his side and blood smearing down onto the wooden floor and over Izaya's face, eyes closed and his skin is hot and damp with sweat, despite the feel of tremors beneath the waxy skin. "Izaya, come on, wake up," Shizuo starts and keeps him on his side, just in case if Izaya needs to vomit because he's not sure what's going on and he immediately suspects foul play, phone coming back out of his pocket and into his fingers with a press of speed dial to Shinra. "Izaya, Izaya, answer me! What the hell happened to you!?"

It takes four long rings for Shinra to answer. _"Ah, Shizuo? What's got you up so early?" _And there isn't time to explain, not when Shizuo wipes off Izaya's face with his T-shirt and then rips it off Izaya's skin, clearing away the mess while trying to find any source of external injury.

"Izaya's been attacked," Shizuo ushers, trying to keep from breaking the couch in the fury of feeling how limp Izaya is and watching the fading rise and fall of his chest knowing it means more to him than it may to Izaya or anyone else. "You need to get to his apartment, now, or he's not gonna make it. He's bleeding from his nose, throwing up, not awake right now." Shizuo snaps and then his cellphone clicks off, not wanting to converse any further as he gets up on the couch, trying to keep Izaya moving and able to breathe with the shallow rise of an inhale and the fragile, barely-there exhale.

"Fucking hell, what happened to you?" Shizuo seethes to himself as he wipes off more stinging blood and mops up the bile and blood mix on the floor, knowing to clean it up later and holding onto Izaya so he can move him if need be, trying to rub some warmth into the gooseflesh rising on his boyfriend's arms. "This can't be some cold, you were just fine, I know you were." Shizuo starts to ramble just only slightly to occupy his mouth, in between calling Izaya's name and keeping track of the pulse throbbing against his fingers. "Izaya, come on, you got to hold on 'til Shinra gets here, and don't you dare do anything stupid or I'll kill you myself." Shizuo has empty threats for the attempt of filling silence starting to crunch into his shoulders and exploit the doubts in his mind of wondering if it's too late—nonsense.

Taking an extra ten minutes to get there, Shizuo keeps Izaya breathing, rubbing his back and wiping away blood from dried trails to any new ones while continuing to hope he hasn't done anything wrong, Shinra coming up soon enough and Celty isn't far behind, being his ride after all and worried if Shizuo is. The only two to know about them and that's how it will stay, for the sake of practicality and Shinra taking over, asking questions Shizuo doesn't have the answer to but all signs suggest poisoning anyway, and then to treat him.

Shizuo stands away from Shinra as he works, identifying the poison and it's a good thing he can, it being so uncommon but documented that the symptoms make its presence more identifiable and treatable, leaving Shizuo to wait and rest for a little while. Nothing helps, however, knowing his flea is unconscious and suffering from a poisoning attempt, making Shizuo's blood boil when he thinks of laying his hands on the fucking bastard responsible and then showing them the true meaning of pain. As much as he'd like to think so Celty keeps a reassuring hand on his shoulder, she knows that Izaya will be fine. He has to be.

Adrenaline racing and his heart still pounding even when Shinra says Izaya will be _fine—_Shizuo can't describe the bitter feeling pooling into his stomach and clawing its way up.

* * *

Darkness alerts him to the fact that his eyes are closed, feeling heavy and weak when he can't help but only breathe in slow and steady movements, not as nauseous as before and that's a bonus. Blood still stings his nose but not quite as strong, meaning there is a chance he could have just been hallucinating, or...

"'Bout fucking time you woke up," Shizuo's voice is thick and warm, a little stiff but an instant wake-up call to Izaya, still struggling to get his eyes open and move while listening to his boyfriend (wondering how he got in here in the first place) and starting to regain feeling in his numb limbs. Sweat still drips from his forehead, feeling a shiver aching to trickle down his spine from how cold he is. "You've been out for hours, flea. That's more than enough to keep me waiting, don't you think?" Shizuo sounds gruff and Izaya first thinks that Shizuo is planning something going by the sudden drop in his voice, only to feel an increased weight on his chest that leads to coughing quietly. Guessing by weight distribution, he assumes Shizuo's arms are around his chest, holding onto him with the intention of not letting go.

Everything feels like a blur. Not being able to speak, Izaya keeps listening and tries to focus on the feeling coming back in his limbs, like waking up and having each of them filled with pins and needles from being in an uncomfortable position for too long. Liquid caramel with viscous properties comes to mind with its golden hue, something foreboding besides the sharp ache in his head and trying to sit up—only to be pushed back down, gently, and with a hand coming behind his head. "Just stay put, flea. Shinra said you were poisoned and you waited long enough for it to affect you. So you're gonna have to sit still until it's cleared out of your system." He doesn't hear the sound of a crack in Shizuo's voice. No, he can pretend sometimes but this time he honestly doesn't have half the brain to remember all that much.

Opening his eyes is another issue, feeling the heavy dry lids keeping his eyes even itchier than before and making it impossible to move, having to force himself to do so even with Shizuo here, telling him to go slow and be careful enough to not feel nausea like a dull ache at the back of his dry throat, tongue feeling like sandpaper when he tries to find any trace of saliva. When it's no use from how parched his lips are his tongue sticks unnecessarily to the skin, getting frustrated and dizzy from the effort of trying to swallow but the uncomfortable sensation makes even thinking difficult. Despite the silence in prevailing over his symptoms Izaya doesn't stay suffering for long, feeling himself being tilted upright and then carefully leaned back against the familiar material of his couch, something cool and cold pressed to his lips.

A quiet murmur escapes Shizuo, giving him confirmation he doesn't really need but still hears it. "Drink some water, you're drained dry." Not bothering to ask what he means, Izaya lets Shizuo tip the cup to his lips and feels the water trickle in through his parted lips, taking in swallows of the relieving feeling and wanting more, just starting to get enough right as Shizuo pulls it away, setting it back onto the coffee table. Izaya blinks, taking his time to open his bleary eyes and ignore the lesser sting of dimmed lights, remembering bit by bit of his apartment, his sofa, Shizuo there with him, somehow and for some reason. But the strange part is that he remembers bits and pieces, like vomiting and his nose bleeding heavily, dripping onto the floor and the bright screen of his phone—

"Your phone's on the table," Shizuo says as if reading his mind and Izaya's eyes regard him carefully, not finding his voice yet to speak up and ask what happened as he tries to put everything back together, still feeling nauseous and sick like eating rotten sushi (not his precious ootoro, Simon could never do that to him) while Shizuo's hand comes to encircle his wrist, pulling one his hands into a simple gesture of being held. "And the mess on the floor was cleaned up too. But you should be in bed, flea," Shizuo gets a wicked glint with a hint of playfulness in his eyes, turning sincere for a flash of moments and disappearing under Izaya's slow blink of disbelief and not knowing what to listen for. "Since you're the bastard who got yourself _poisoned_, didn't even fucking bother to call me until you were dying from it. Shinra had even said you only had half an hour left before it killed you, and here you are, still alive because you finally decided to call me." His eyes soften, his body language softens, and Izaya feels the urge to sway forward and try to steal some of Shizuo's body heat sinking into his skin.

Okay, so maybe he's slightly delirious on the path of recovery and Shizuo is more than just frazzled but unnerved. "Why didn't you call me? Did you think I didn't want to see you? Or did you think that I wouldn't help you...?" Shizuo looks like a kicked puppy and Izaya purses his lips, already feeling the stress starting to come crawling back to him, nearly skittering like a parasitic insect ready for its next meal. Shizuo's hand still stays in his but he's not looking away, looking for an answer and Izaya tries to compose himself, thinking of how to respond without giving up too much and having to admit that without the odd stroke of luck that is Shizuo he would have easily died, though preferring not to mention it because gods shouldn't be taken out so easily by such simple means.

"It was an accident, Shizu-chan," Izaya's voice is hoarse and rough, scratching his throat like grinding gravel and accepting the cup of water Shizuo brings back to his lips, holding it with one hand over Shizuo's and swallowing as much as he can until it disappears once again and Shizuo's inquisitive brown eyes are on him and gods aren't supposed to default to monsters but since they're an odd pair he's never sure of what to think other than trying to lie, but that's not what relationships are supposed to be about. "I was going to call Shiki-san, to tell him about the man who..." Shizuo gets the point, Izaya feels exhausted and ill. "I must've dialed you by accident."

At first, Shizuo's face contorts into textbook anger. Anger for being ignored, anger for not being the first choice and frustration for not knowing that Izaya was dying and he was none the wiser for most of it, until the final moments of being able to be spared. Which Izaya can assume from his point of view that it's to feel disappointing for not being trusted, for not having the privilege to know about someone he's supposed to care about and what he does feel is an odd mix of feelings and desires he'd rather not say. But Shizuo's hurt look soon comes from the anger, and while Izaya's brain keeps boiling in his head, a forehead thunks against his, much warmer and providing a heat source for how cold he is.

"You're an absolute fucking _idiot,_" Shizuo's forehead rests against his and then one arm comes around Izaya, pulling him easily up to Shizuo so the blond can give Izaya access to lie on his shoulder, proffering it as a place to rest on when he sees the tired droop in Izaya's eyes. There's so much more he wants to talk about and barely any time to say much of what needs to be heard. "Don't ever pull that stunt again, got it? Else I'll come find you and kill you myself." The growl in his throat vibrates against Izaya's nose, a small smile or something of the like pressing gently into his skin while Izaya gets comfortable, already feeling like a dead weight anyway. "Because even though you're playing whatever game you wanna play right now, it doesn't matter. And if you don't want that, then you gotta tell me now." Shizuo pulls Izaya up, forcing him to look into his eyes and as tired as Izaya is from the entire ordeal, eyes already threatening to send him into sleep again, he examines Shizuo's gaze for any traces of deceit he knows he'll never find.

"Fine, Shizu-chan," Izaya sighs, taking in more heat and absorbing it from Shizuo, being convincing enough because he is brutally honest when feeling this miserable and bed sounds like a good idea. Better than anything he's dealt with so far.

Shizuo doesn't say any more, silently regarding Izaya with a nod and then that arm is back around his waist, the other hand detaching from Izaya's fingers to help lift him up, letting his head fall into his shoulder and move Izaya so he can be carried to bed, just like a helpless victim of a hungry beast. Izaya's breaths puff against his throat as he walks, remembering Shinra's calm instructions once the antidote showed signs of working, and then recalling that the dose of the caramel color of whatever it was called, _Caramello_, is only for causing illness and whoever dosed Izaya must have given far over the normal amount, thinking he must weigh more but the reality is much different. Hence the threat of death, Izaya's blood pressure so low the unreadable feeling of feverish skin starting to turn cold is enough for anyone, namely Shizuo, to seek revenge.

He doesn't get past the bedroom door with those kinds of thoughts. "Shizu-chan," Izaya groans, a hand rising to his head and Shizuo hums in his throat, adjusting Izaya who forgets the rest of his sentence to ease the sheets open and allow Izaya to curl up in them, looking much smaller than a boyfriend and a manipulative informant. Whoever poisoned him must have thought of Izaya, watching him die in the shivers that wrack his body and the eventual cold sweats that bleed him dry, in pain and forgetting his own name.

"Shizu-chan," Izaya tries again, sounding worse for wear and Shizuo sits on the side of the bed as Izaya scoots over to the other side, pulling the sheets all to him when he shivers, looking pissed off beneath the heavy exterior of being too ill to do much. "Awakusu...Shiki..." His face contorts when he struggles to spit the words out, Shizuo's hand in his hair and his eyes failing to stay open for long.

It looks like a picturesque of a lazy morning and just a terrible case of the sniffles but Shizuo knows better than to trust Izaya at the first word out of his mouth, having to wait to get down to the core to know what he wants to hear. "Don't worry about it, just go to sleep. Shinra said you'd be drowsy for a while." Shizuo doesn't figure there's a risk, there's no way he's going back to his apartment until he is sure that Izaya will be fine on his own, if only he could murder the man responsible for this and he _can't, _not yet at least.

Even though Shizuo is here and he's insufferably warm like an addictive pull of ootoro or those bitter chocolate gateau cakes at the bakery Shizuo likes, Izaya still shakes his head and tries to squirm, limbs too heavy to do much and he ends up squirming, never being able to move far when his brain moves a thousand kilometers per minute. "No, no," Izaya tries to remember the name to a face, the smile of a cat that knows far too much for its own good and knowing that he's not part of the Awakusu-kai deal, sneaking his way in and lying enough to convince Izaya and he can't remember the _name._ Nothing comes to him, not as he bites his tongue and huffs angrily because he's suspended in thick syrup and can barely even remember his own name, Shizuo telling him to go to sleep and he can't until he remembers the name—that face, the name!

Izaya murmurs something, eyes looking frantic and Shizuo leans down, pressing a kiss against his cheek and Izaya still says something, barely audible in the raw vibrations of his voice in his throat and he listens when Izaya's hand grasps his arm tightly, showing the strength he still has. "Just hold still, okay? Repeat it again, slowly." Shizuo looks him in the eyes from just above him, seeing the pull of Izaya's eyelids and often finding relief in the slow coloring that rises to Izaya's cheeks from the heat of a fever running its course, one of the few things besides an unsaid argument sure to arise soon enough that he'd rather avoid, even though it tugs at his chest more than it should when it's important and Izaya is too ill to answer.

"Yodo...giri!" Izaya manages, half swallowing his tongue and half ripping it off in frustration until he finally gives one last shuddering breath, searching Shizuo's face for any signs of recognition and pleased at least when he finds it, remembering instructions on his tongue that come so easily when his eyes close, Shizuo's hand in his hair telling him that it's fine, and he believes him because Shizuo is more attentive than one may think.

There will be other times like tomorrow to try and get their heads right and for Shizuo to figure out why Izaya, sleeping against him as soon as he pulls under the sheets and the first lights of morning hit, would ignore his texts and thinking that there must be reasons. None of them too bad if Izaya holds onto him like this with fists clenched in Shizuo's dress shirt, fingers like a vice on the fabric and Shizuo combs through Izaya's sweat-soaked hair, trying to at least get it to look a little more normal and not like a bad hair day. Tomorrow's argument can wait, for as long as Shizuo can keep Izaya from shivering and feeling any worse, knowing the look of pain when Izaya first wakes up and it's all Shizuo can think about until Shinra has to remind him several times that Izaya is fine.

Lips brush against Izaya's, feeling the cool taste of mint from brushing Izaya's teeth for him, figuring he'd need it before he woke up. Even though Izaya can't hear him, it doesn't matter if he does, Shizuo's lips move against his ear feeling like an apology for something he didn't do. All the ideas of why—he didn't stop Izaya from being poisoned—start to linger and filter, trying to get the same idea as his lover and just sleep with him, already feeling tired again.

And he knows there was no way to help Izaya. Unavoidable.

In the morning, he hopes he can try.

* * *

_Caramello's request after winning my contest in my work, Kiss Me, with their suggestion of FMA:B, which I enjoyed very much. Thank you for your patience. And now to get back to writing more oneshots, because those happen to be my favorite._

_Thank you for reading._


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